


nice, a sequel

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Get Together, Gifts, M/M, Minor Clint Barton, Misunderstandings, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Romance, minor Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Steve wants to repay Tony for the nice things he's done for him, and, along the way, he falls in love.





	nice, a sequel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When They Think of Me They Think of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257972) by [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna). 



> https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257972/chapters/21343586

It's late spring in Manhattan and the weather's perfect when Steve leaves S.H.I.E.L.D. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool, and Steve takes a deep breath as he starts toward the bus stop that will take him back toward the Tower. Days like this he likes to stay above ground where he can see the world go by.  
  
Today he doesn't pay as much attention to the trip as he normally might—his mind's somewhere else.  
  
On someone else.  
  
He and Tony had sat in the kitchen for hours talking and passing the spoon back and forth while they made a considerable dent in the carton of ice cream the night before. With the cat out of the bag, Tony had wanted to know everything about the little gifts, details about the classes Steve was signing up for, which edits he'd liked best. Now that Steve was watching for it, he could see Tony taking mental notes of their conversation. More gifts would come out of it, Steve could feel it to his bones.  
  
He'd gone to bed feeling lighter than he had in years.  
  
Even now, in the searing spring sunshine, the memory hasn't tarnished. Without asking for anything in return, and without any recognition at all, Tony has been making Steve's life more bearable.  
  
Something he's realized as he thought about it is that no one does that for Tony.  
  
They ask him for things and thank him when he does them (it's fifty-fifty odds as to whether or not they also give him a hard time). Tony doesn't seem bothered by it or inclined to stop, but it bothers Steve. Now that he's paying attention, he knows he's been less gracious than Tony deserves for all he's done.  
  
Ma would be disappointed.  
  
Which is why Steve stops by a place on his walk from the stop to pick up a burger and fries. It's not unusual for Tony to show up in the kitchen ravenous because he's forgotten to eat. Bringing him something before he gets to that point isn't much, but it's something Steve can do.  
  
He pauses at the door to the workshop and says, “JARVIS, can you ask Tony if I can come in?”  
  
JARVIS doesn't respond, but inside the shop, Tony cocks his head and then glances back over his shoulder. Steve waves.  
  
Tony says something, and the door opens with a hiss.  
  
“To what do I owe the honor?” Tony asks and the question is casual, but there's something guarded in the way Tony looks Steve over.  
  
It makes Steve feel worse. Tony does all these nice things for Steve, but he still doesn't trust him.  
  
Pushing the thought aside, Steve holds up the bag. “I stopped for lunch, and I thought you might be hungry.”  
  
Tony stares in surprise for a moment. Then he gathers himself and says, “Yeah, I could eat.”  
  
To say the meal is awkward would be an understatement. Steve doesn't know where the easy conversation from the night before has gone, but he feels like a dolt as they stagger their way through.  
  
“Well, I'll see you later,” he says, when they've both finished, and Tony's eyes keep sliding over to the holographic displays nearby.  
  
“Oh,” Tony says, a mishmash of emotions crossing his face, “yeah, sure, okay. Thanks for lunch.”  
  
“Anytime,” Steve says and then makes a not-too-hasty retreat.  
  
That had been a disaster.  
  
Steve can't understand it, and he wants to, so he goes to the gym and starts going through his routine with the bag, trying to break things down like he would after a battle. He's nearly thirty minutes in when it hits him—Steve had come in the afternoon after finding out Tony's been giving him all these gifts and immediately given something to Tony and stood right there. Steve had liked that he didn't feel pressured to react in a certain way or to reciprocate the mystery nice person's gestures. Maybe that's why Tony had done it that way in the first place, and Steve's gone and put that exact pressure on him.  
  
“I have to be more subtle,” he realizes aloud.  
  
“Aim for the stars, Cap,” Clint calls from across the room. Steve swipes a wrist across his forehead and shoots Clint a dirty look.  
  
“I didn't ask the peanut gallery.”  
  
Clint grins toothily at him. “I offer my nuggets of wisdom freely.”  
  
“Let me offer _you_ a nugget,” Steve retorts. “Don't.”  
  
–  
  
Before Steve gets a chance to try again, Tony beats him to the punch.  
  
Steve has an appointment with S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. He despises medical, but he recognizes that it's necessary to do regular checkups to be sure he's recovered from old injuries and to make sure he's healthy. Anything he might catch could easily kill the other Avengers. Better safe than sorry.  
  
He's not sure how Tony finds him, but he strides out of a hallway Steve passes on his way to medical and falls into step with Steve. His eyes are hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Hey, there, Cap. Where you headed?”  
  
“Medical.”  
  
Tony glances over at him, sunglasses glinting under the fluorescents. “Care for some company?”  
  
It's embarrassing, but Steve does. The idea of Tony watching on while the doctors poke and prod at him relaxes the knot in his belly. Tony won't let them do anything they shouldn't. “I'd like that,” he says, and Tony's mouth curls slightly at the corners.  
  
“You got it, Cap.”  
  
Tony talks the whole way to the medbay and hardly lets up once they get there. He talks about his projects and asks Steve questions to help him with the new advanced helmet he's working on for Steve. He wants to put a heads-up display into the eye holes.  
  
While the doctors put him through the shoulder maneuvers for the physical exam inspecting his muscles and joints, Steve tells Tony what kinds of information would be useful in a HUD and what would just be a distraction. Tony keeps trying to talk him into adding things, and Steve keeps patiently reminding him that as smart as the serum made him, he's still no Tony Stark.  
  
It makes Tony look quietly pleased. “Come on, Cap, I think you're underestimating the amount of data you can process.”  
  
Steve chuckles. “No, you're overestimating it, Smart Guy.”  
  
Tony's presence makes the appointment go by that much faster, and it should be uncomfortable doing all this in his skivvies while Tony watches on, but Tony keeps his eyes firmly on Steve's face and at this point, the more naked he is, the more comfortable he is with Tony there.  
  
He knows Tony will have his back.  
  
It's a funny, warm realization.  
  
–  
  
Steve's next attempt to be nice is less showy. Tony doesn't even see him doing it, because what he does is guard the coffee pot so there are still a couple mugs worth of Tony's favorite in the carafe when he comes to the kitchen. It takes a week worth of watching Tony to see what coffee types he likes best, JARVIS' help keeping track of his movements, and Clint being annoyed with him, but he does it.  
  
It makes him proud, and the satisfaction of watching Tony's contented expression as he takes his first sip motivates him to think of more things he can do to make Tony happy. Once he remembers Tony saying that's why he started doing it, that makes it much more comfortable. He's beginning to recognize what Tony looks like when he's happy and starts scribbling notes in his sketchbook alongside his doodles whenever he notices something in particular.  
  
Tony always seems pleased by gifts, even when they're stupid things like Natasha giving him a sauce packet from a restaurant with Iron Man on it, so Steve keeps his eyes peeled when he goes out and picks things out occasionally. A scarf with gold flecks that reminds him of Tony's eyes, an itty bitty Iron Man figurine, a pack of his favorite snack, anything that makes him think of Tony. Once he buys Tony a piece of art—a painting of the reflection of a chrome bumper—and Tony's face when he presents it to him makes him flush and start to draw back.  
  
“NO,” Tony says loudly, and grabs hold of one edge of the painting. “It's mine now. Thank you.”  
  
Steve swallows, his heart pounding at the base of his throat. Tony's fingers are touching his, and he feels completely unmoored. “You're welcome,” he finally manages.  
  
–  
  
It doesn't occur to him how much things have changed between him and Tony until he goes to the SI R&D department to deliver fifteen bags of take out because Tony had told him his team was working sixteen hour days trying to fix something that had gone wrong. Tony smiles as he watches the team dig into the bags, but it's heavy on his face, his eyes lined and his face a little gray.  
  
Steve curls a hand around the back of his neck and says, “Hey. You all right?”  
  
Tony looks at him and sighs. “As all right as I can be. My back hurts, and it feels like my brain's bleeding, but sure.”  
  
Steve squeezes his neck lightly. “Well, I can't do anything about the brain bleed, but I could rub your back?”  
  
He realizes immediately how intimate what he's proposing is, but before he can think better of it, Tony says, “Could you really? I might die.”  
  
That settles it and Steve nods. “Of course. It may not be very good, but I've got strong hands.”  
  
“You've got strong everything,” Tony mutters. “Come on.”  
  
He leads Steve over to one of the conference rooms and slumps down on to the nearest armless chair backward, pressing his face into the leather back. Steve puts his hands on Tony's shoulders but doesn't start in intense right away. He rubs his palms slowly over Tony's back, kneading lightly with his fingers, but not using too much pressure. He drags the tips of his fingers across Tony's shoulders and then down either side of his spine, just getting him used to the touch. After maybe five minutes, Tony's posture softens, and he leans heavily into the chair back, the tension slowly easing out of his shoulders.  
  
That's when Steve starts massaging more deeply, using his whole hands to squeeze the muscles and pressing harder. Tony groans.  
  
It gives Steve an immense sense of satisfaction to see Tony come apart like that, bit by bit. There's something about it that just makes him feel accomplished, like he's done something that really needed doing.  
  
He keeps at it for the better part of half an hour. By that time Tony's slumped against the chair back, his face mashed into the leather, arms dangling loosely at his sides. Steve's pretty sure there's drool on the chair.  
  
“Ngh,” Tony finally grunts. “'f I don't go back I never will.”  
  
Steve slows his hands, kneading more lightly at Tony's shoulders. “All right. Let me know if there's anything else I can do.”  
  
“Help me up?” Tony asks.  
  
Steve helps him find his feet, steadying Tony when he wobbles precariously. Tony's face is right there, his eyes hooded and his breath warm on Steve's jaw.  
  
Steve freezes, staring directly into Tony's eyes and he watches them widen the slightest bit, Tony's breathing suddenly stuttering. His skin is warm under Steve's hand where he's still touching him, lingering on his skin because Tony's shirt is unbuttoned halfway and his collar's open and he smells like espresso and sweat and the lotion Steve had grabbed off a nearby counter at some point.  
  
Steve's heart is beating so hard in his chest it feels like being small and weak again, it feels like tachycardia, it feels like panic and anticipation and an urgency he hasn't felt for anyone since he said goodbye to Peggy seventy years ago.  
  
Realization takes his breath away. Oh. _Oh_. That's why he wanted so badly to give back to Tony. Why he wanted to see him happy. It's not gratitude, and it's not teambuilding, or it is, but it's all buried under the need to see Tony happy, thriving.  
  
He's in love with Tony.  
  
He doesn't know when exactly it happened but now that he's staring at it—Tony—straight in the face, he knows that's exactly what this is.  
  
At his back, the door opens, and panic lurches up Steve's throat. He steps back, letting go of Tony so fast he tips forward a little. Steve turns his head enough to see Pepper peering around the door. “Tony?” she says. “Here you are, they've been looking for you. Oh, Steve. Hello.”  
  
Steve reacts on pure habit and nods his head. “Ma'am.” He winces the minute it's out of his mouth because Pepper told him a long time ago that she didn't want him calling her ma'am or Miss Potts unless they worked together which they did not.  
  
She doesn't seem to notice though, busy approaching Tony who's trying to get his shirt back in order. Steve flushes as he watches them, suddenly all too aware of how this must look, him and Tony squirreled away in a conference room, Tony looking mussed and dopey. With an intensity that surprises him, Steve finds himself wishing that was precisely what had happened, and that Pepper knew it.  
  
“...lost track of time,” Tony is saying. “Captain America gave me a massage.” He sounds smug, and Pepper smiles indulgently at him.  
  
“Well, that was very nice of him, you needed something like that. Unfortunately, we need you back out there being brilliant now.”  
  
“Story of my life,” Tony sighs, but it's in good humor.  
  
“I should go,” Steve blurts, “let you get back to work.”  
  
“Hey, thanks, Steve. I feel a million times better.”  
  
Steve nods and smiles and flees.  
  
–  
  
Steve goes out to a coffee shop where he can get some distance and think. He does this often enough that he has a usual spot and one of the baristas smiles at him from where they're wiping down the other tables as he sits down. He sketches while he considers the piano that fell on his head while he was with Tony.  
  
He's interested in Tony as more than a friend.  
  
This isn't the first time he's felt something like this, and it's not even the first time he's taken a shine to another man, but. Well, he'd been aware of it then, it hadn't hit him like Thor's hammer out of seemingly nowhere.  
  
He feels guilty for it because if he'd only been doing nice things for Tony out of some kind of attempt to get Tony's attention that was wrong.  
  
As his sketch of the shop storefront develops though, the guilt fades. He hadn't been doing them to get Tony's attention, he'd been doing it to see Tony happy. As happy as Tony had made him.  
  
Steve's breath catches and his pencil stills on the page.  
  
Was that why _Tony_ had done it?  
  
_“You deserve to be happy, Steve.”_  
  
The thought that Tony might reciprocate Steve's feelings fills him with a giddy bubble of happiness. When Tony has some time, Steve will talk to him and find out if he's right.  
  
–  
  
When he gets home, it's early evening, and Steve is feeling loose and contented, still warm with the thought that there may be something between him and Tony they can explore.  
  
He brightens when he walks into the kitchen to find Tony in his rumpled dress shirt leaning against the island countertop. He's grinning across it at Clint who has his hands thrown up in the air. “A dog park!”  
  
“Yes,” Tony says, voice thick with amusement. He takes a bite of the breadstick in his hand.  
  
“In the Tower!”  
  
“Where else would I put it?” Tony asks. “Lucky should be able to run around with his friends.”  
  
“You're unbelievable,” Clint says, which is his way of saying thank you.  
  
Tony grins. “I know.”  
  
Clint throws a wadded up napkin at Tony's head as he leaves.  
  
“Send pictures!” Tony yells after him. Then he catches sight of Steve and his smile widens. “Steve, hey. Thanks again for earlier.”  
  
Steve shrugs. “You needed it. What was Clint all worked up about?”  
  
Tony returns his shrug. “I had a dog park installed on the fifteenth floor. A high-rise isn't the best environment for a dog, you know? Clint doesn't get up early enough to take Lucky to Central for the off-leash hours, and SI's got plenty of employees with dogs—I figured why not?”  
  
“That's awfully nice of you, Tony,” Steve says, feeling his heart sink to his feet.  
  
Maybe he's not so special to Tony after all.  
  
–  
  
Steve feels like a heel for his reaction to discovering Tony does nice things for the others. He should be happy that Tony is a good, kind person who does stuff like this for no reason. It's part of what Steve loves about him after all. Despite the logic of that, he's jealous.  
  
He wanted to mean something more to Tony, that's all.  
  
It's embarrassing, how badly he misinterpreted things. More than ever, he owes Tony repayment for all the good things he's done. He just...can't quite face Tony with how foolish he's been, so he does his best to repay Tony's kindness without interacting with him directly.  
  
Natasha watches him enter the kitchen one morning just after Tony's left—Steve had waited in the hallway until he'd heard him leave. “Steve,” she says tone heavy with unspoken words.  
  
Steve grimaces at the coffee pot.  
  
“What's going on with you and Tony?” she asks, and he sighs. Of course she knows.  
  
“Nothing,” he says, knowing it's a feeble denial at best.  
  
“Mhm.” She sips her tea judgmentally.  
  
“Did he—say something?” Steve asks, voice getting stuck part way through the question.  
  
“Why, what would he say, Steve?”  
  
Steve shakes his head, feeling the back of his neck grow hot. “Nothing. That I know of.”  
  
“Which is why you waited in the hall until he left.”  
  
Steve's heart throbs, caught out.  
  
Natasha sighs.  
  
Steve slinks back out of the kitchen with his coffee, feeling guilty.  
  
Later, he's in the gym (after making sure Tony isn't, of course) and Clint strides in with a sigh. “Steve, man, I love you, but what the hell did you do?”  
  
Steve pauses his workout, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Uhh…?”  
  
Clint throws something at him—a small piece of paper that Steve catches against his chest. When he lowers his hand to see what it is, the paper drifts into his palm and Steve's throat goes tight.  
  
“Where did you get this?” he rasps.  
  
“Tony gave it to me and told me to give it to you.”  
  
Tony. The small paper is a photograph. He doesn't know who took it or where or how, but it's a photo of him and Peggy. There's a hand on Steve's shoulder in the picture that he's almost positive is Bucky.  
  
“Why's Tony giving things to me to give to you instead of giving them to you himself.”  
  
“What?” Steve says and tears his gaze away from the photo.  
  
“He made me an errand boy. Whatever you did, fix it, Steve.”  
  
Clint kicks him in the ankle, none too gently, and leaves.  
  
Steve looks at the photograph again, his heart clenching like a fist in his chest. He's never seen this one before, and Peggy looks…  
  
For a moment, the loss yawns so wide and dark inside him it feels inescapable. Then he remembers why he has this photo, and he swallows down his embarrassment and disappointment and heads down to Tony's workshop.  
  
Tony is sitting at his workbench working with a screwdriver and some kind of electronic with a hologram hovering close by feeding him readouts.  
  
“Tony,” he calls, “I can't...I can't accept this.”  
  
Tony pauses in his work and then turns slowly, one eyebrow rising up his forehead. “What exactly do you think I'm going to do with it?”  
  
Steve doesn't know how to answer that.  
  
Tony planned this he realizes when he meets Tony's eye. Tony's lips press into a thin line, and he whaps the screwdriver against the meat of his palm. “Why'd you stop talking to me, Steve?”  
  
Steve swallows, pulling the photo back in toward his body. Miserably, he says, “I'm sorry, Tony. I keep trying to fix this, and I just keep making it worse. I thought if I got some distance I could stop myself.”  
  
Tony frowns. “Stop yourself from what?”  
  
Steve closes his eyes, chin dropping. “Stop myself from being a jealous jackass.” He sighs. “Obviously I'm not doing a very good job.”  
  
“Jealous?” Tony echoes. “Jealous of what?”  
  
Steve scrubs his face with his hands. The sweat from his workout has dried, itchy and uncomfortable on the back of his neck. “I thought… I thought I was special. That maybe...you were doing these things—” He holds up the photo. “—because you—” Steve trails off, grimacing. “But then you gave Clint the dog park and—” He sighs again. “It's nothing you did, Tony, honest.”  
  
“Hang on—you're jealous because I gave Clint the dog park?”  
  
“I shouldn't be upset that you're a good guy, Tony, but—”  
  
“But you are.”  
  
“That's not why I'm upset!”  
  
Tony gives him a profoundly skeptical look.  
  
“I'm upset because I thought it—meant something.”  
  
Steve is mortified when Tony stares at him. He starts backing toward the door, hands raised. “I'm sorry—Tony, I'm sorry, I am. I'm going to—stop, I promise.”  
  
“Hang on,” Tony says, raising his voice, and Steve freezes. Then, very carefully, Tony says, “Steve, how many dog park-like things have I done for you?”  
  
Steve shrugs, uncomfortable. “Dozens, maybe?”  
  
“And do you know how many I've done for Barton?”  
  
Steve shakes his head.  
  
“One,” Tony says. Then after a beat, “Okay maybe two or three. A handful. But nowhere near the dozens I've done for you. Do you know why that is?”  
  
Steve swallows, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest.  
  
Tony's eyes are intense, his lips trembling ever-so-slightly. “Because you're different, Steve.”  
  
Steve can't find his voice around his pounding heart. He's special to Tony _and_ Tony's a good, kind person.  
  
“You're...something else, Tony,” he finally croaks. “I hope someday I can be half the man that you are.”  
  
Tony's eyes go wide, his tongue darting out nervously over his bottom lip. He gives Steve an uncertain, puzzled smile. “You're Captain America,” he says like that's half as important as Tony constantly working himself to the bone to make the people around him happy and, not only that, to keep the world around him safe.  
  
Steve is just a sickly kid from Brooklyn with something to prove.  
  
He shakes his head. “Tony, you fight the little everyday battles alongside the world-changing ones. You're the reason I can keep fighting at all.”  
  
“I think you're underselling yourself.”  
  
“I think _you're_ underselling yourself.”  
  
Tony's mouth twitches upward on one side, and he twists the screwdriver between his hands. “So...you think I'm pretty great. And I think you get where I'm coming from now. So.” His eyes flicker to Steve's. “What now?”  
  
“Well,” Steve says, taking a slow step forward. “My last good kiss was in 1945.”  
  
A grin blooms over Tony's face, brightening until Steve feels like he's going to burst with the warmth filling him up.

 


End file.
